


A Sand Dollar for Your Love

by Fweeble



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Growing Up, M/M, mute!Tim, summers in Sannibel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fweeble/pseuds/Fweeble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There are twelve years worth of memories in the jar, twelve years worth of laughter, tears, love, and pain. There are one hundred fifty two days of time spent together, dancing around each other, until they stopped dancing and let themselves fall together."</p><p>---</p><p>What Tim keeps aren't seashells, but memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sand Dollar for Your Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [babybirdblues](https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybirdblues/gifts).



There are twelve years worth of memories in the jar, twelve years worth of laughter, tears, love, and pain. There are one hundred fifty two days of time spent together, dancing around each other, until they stopped dancing and let themselves fall together.  
  
Tim can name each seashell, remember vividly the day he associated with each seashell –the buttercup lucine is the day they made their first sand castle together, the light blue coquina shell with a crack in it is the day he went to the movies for the first time, and that the junonia shell is from the first time they sat under the sun and ate ice cream together.   
  
—  
=Year One=  
  
Colors have always fascinated Tim.   
  
There are more shades of red than there are names and more colors in the world than his imagination can conceive.  His imagination could never have created a sky as blue as the one above him now or give birth to the emerald green waves that lap at the shore.   
  
He digs his feet into the sand and props his drawing pad against his knees and tries to sketch what he sees. There is no scenery like this in Gotham, no place where it seems as if the horizon goes on forever into a never ending sky. When night falls, Tim will probably be able to see the stars and search for constellations.   
  
He picks up an ultramarine pastel and tries to blend it into the colors already on his page. His mom and dad are inside, a call from work, another emergency. They’re too busy to see this, but Tim will draw it for them. They’re leaving tomorrow and his parents haven’t had much time to experience the small island, too busy on their vacation.  
  
“Whatcha doin’?”  
  
Tim starts and blinks up at the boy leaning over his shoulder curiously. People don’t talk to him unless they’re his parents or Damian. What is he supposed to do? He wets his chapped lips nervously –what if the other boy finds him weird?  
  
“Wow, that’s awesome! You’re pretty good, you know that?”  
  
He flushes red in embarrassment, unsure of how to thank the boy. It will be hours before the sun sets and Tim remembers how the sun makes the sand look like powdered chalk. He never forgets. He can always draw another picture for his parents.  
  
‘Want it?’ Tim writes in the sand next to him, feeling his face grow hotter.   
  
“Thanks! I ought to give you something too.”  
  
The other boy digs through the pockets of his trunks and produces something vaguely round and a fading purple-brown.   
  
“It’s a sand dollar,” he explains excitedly, “Do you see how the hair is falling off and it’s not that purple anymore? It means it’s dead.” Something must show on his face because the boy hastily tries to assure him it’s normal, “It’s okay, really. There are lots more and it happens, but this means you can take it home.”  
  
Tim smiles and accepts the sand dollar and slips it into his own pocket, pleased.   
  
“Want to collect some seashells? There are a ton of them on the beach, we’re famous for them.”  
  
He shakes his head –his mom had told him to stay away from the water. He can’t swim and it’s dangerous. All the seashells he’d seen people pick up have been by the waterline.   
  
“Why not?”  
  
Tim shakes his head again, points at the waves, and shakes again.   
  
“Can’t swim? Then I’ll teach you.”  
  
If Tim can swim then it won’t be a problem if he’s in the water because it won’t be dangerous anymore. And then he can collect all sorts of pretty seashells so his parents can also have pretty memories of Sanibel to take home.   
  
He smiles and lets the older boy lead him closer to the water.   
  
It’s cooler than he expected and he feels goosebumps crawl up his back. He wriggles his toes experimentally; feels the coarse, shifting sand beneath his feet. It’s –different. It’s not like the pool at home, that’s heated and firm beneath his feet. Each ebb and flow of the sea pulls him just a bit closer to the ocean, as if it welcomes him.  
  
“We’re going to stay here,” the other boy says confidently, “We can’t go farther out until you learn to swim.”  
  
The water is splashing around his knees and he finds himself almost disappointed. At home, he’s allowed to go into the pool until the water is chest level.   
  
“Hmm, this is kind of too shallow, but the current gets stronger the farther in we go. Maybe…”  
  
-  
  
Tim doesn’t know how much time has passed, but the sun is hanging low in the sky, painting it with brilliant magenta and indigo hues when he hears his mother scream.  
  
He blinks up from where he and the other boy are gathering seashells, distracted from their earlier plans of teaching Tim to swim, to see his mother pale-faced in her fury and pointing at his new friend.   
  
“Don’t worry ma’am, we were just picking seashells.”  
  
“My son is  _mute_ , you could have killed him!” There is a resounding smack and Tim is frightened because it’s his fault and now his mother is furious at his friend and it’s not his fault. He tugs at his mother’s pant leg anxiously, but she will not be deterred. “What if a current caught him? What if he was dragged under? He can’t  _swim_.  _He can’t call for help._ ”  
  
There are tears in the other boy’s eyes and Tim feels them prickling in his own too.   
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”  
  
“I’m sorry doesn’t fix anything.”   
  
-  
  
They aren’t in the house for five minutes before Tim realizes he left his drawing pad on the beach.   
  
‘Please,’ he signs, ‘can I go get it back?’  
  
“You’re grounded.”  
  
‘Please, I will be good. I’ll get it and come back. I’ll be a good boy. I won’t ask for sleepovers at Damian’s when we get home.’  
  
“No dawdling,” his father warns over his mother’s adamant protests, “And stay away from the water. Come back right away.”  
  
Tim nods furiously in agreement as he runs out of the house. If he’s lucky, he can find the other boy and apologize and get his pad before it gets dark.   
  
He finds the boy sitting next to his drawing pad looking sullenly out at the sea.   
  
‘I’m sorry,’ he scrawls in the sand after he sits down.  
  
“It’s okay,” the boy mumbles, “I should’ve noticed. I just thought you were really shy.”  
  
‘I am,’ Tim admits, ‘Most people at home don’t talk to me. They already know.’  
  
“Oh. That sucks…” The boy blinks a bit. “I just realized I never got your name. I’m Dick.”  
  
‘Tim.’  
  
“Will you still be coming down to the beach?”  
  
‘Next year.’  
  
“I’ll see you then,” Dick grins and sticks out his pinky.  
  
‘Promise,’ Tim writes and curls his pinky around the Dick’s.  
  
—  
  
Tim borrows books from the library about seashells and finds that, like colors, there are a lot more of them than he expected. He also learns that the reason why his shells aren’t as vibrant and colorful as the ones in the books is because he isn’t taking care of them properly.  
  
He is especially careful with the sand dollar when he washes it. He goes the extra mile the book suggests and coats it in a water-glue mixture in order to strengthen it after the bleaching. It’s special because it’s a present.  
  
—  
  
=Year Two=  
  
It’s been three days into his family vacation and Tim still hasn’t seen Dick. He’s disappointed –there’s no reason for the other boy to remember him and there’s no reason for the other boy to meet him again even if he did. Last time they met, his mother had slapped Dick and accused Dick of nearly drowning him.   
  
He had learned to swim since then and he had promised to wear bright colors and stay near the shoreline where the lifeguard could easily see him. He was hoping Dick would pick seashells with him again.   
  
He sits by the water and lets the water lick at his toes like a playful puppy. The colors are still as entrancing as they were last year and he can always draw some more, even if Dick isn’t here.   
  
Two sketches later, there’s a familiar, “Whatcha doin’?”  
  
‘Drawing.’  
  
“I can see that, but why?”

  
‘Nothing else to do,’ he lies. It doesn’t feel right to say it’s because he hadn’t been able to find Dick.  
  
“You can draw at home. This is the  _beach_ , Timmy. You do beach-things here.”  
  
‘Like what?’  
  
“Have you ever built a sand castle before?”  
  
Tim shakes his head.   
  
“You poor soul. We have to fix that.”  
  
-  
  
They have a long, deep trench in front of their castle to protect it from the rising waves and Dick had found a little piece of wood to act as a drawbridge. They spent about ten minutes hunting for tiny pieces of kelp to act as chains for their bridge. They have four large watchtowers, and what looks like an Arabian palace.  
  
‘Isn’t this weird?’ Tim writes worriedly. Everything is rather European if you ignore the palace that looks like it came straight out of Disney’s Aladdin.   
  
‘No,’ Dick signs in reply.  
  
Tim scrunches his nose and writes, ‘But it’s like having a genie attack’ before he realizes Dick had _signed_  at him in reply.  
  
‘Did you use sign language?’ he writes, amazed.  
  
“Yeah, I went to the library and borrowed some books. I still don’t know much, but I know some basics. Like the alphabet and things like ‘yes’ and ‘no.’”  
  
No one outside his parents, Damian, and Damian’s family have ever done that for him before. He’s equal parts embarrassed and pleased.   
  
‘Thank you,’ he signs. When Dick looks a bit confused, he writes it down.   
  
“Haha, sorry. I’ll get better.”  
  
Tim smiles because knowing any sign language at all is already more than most people will ever do for him.   
  
‘It’s fine.’  
  
“Well, it looks like we’re almost done with our sand castle. It’s time for some seashells.”  
  
By the time they return to their sand castle, it’s destroyed and there are obvious footprints amid its destruction. Tim had known that it would be gone tomorrow morning, washed away by the evening tide, but he doesn’t think he was prepared to see it gone before nightfall, especially by human hands.  
  
“Jerks. It’s okay, we can always make another one. And look, the East Watchtower survived.”  
  
Dick embeds their flashiest seashell into its side as if it was a medal of valor, the Last Survivor.   
  
‘We’ll make it even bigger and grander,’ Tim writes.  
  
-  
  
When the sun sets and it’s time for him to go back, Tim takes the shell from the East Watchtower and brings it back with him.   
  
—  
  
=Year Three=  
  
Dick is two years older, eight inches taller, and nearly twenty pounds heavier –these are only the mundane reasons for Tim to hold the other boy on a high pedestal. The more honest reasons included the fact that Dick swam like a fish, had a laugh that Tim would forever associate with summer and sunshine, and is one of the few people who accept him for who he is, muteness and all.   
  
So when he finds out that Dick is learning to surf, it only serves to elevate the older boy in Tim’s mind. Dick not only lives by the beach and can name every seashell by heart, he’s now a  _surfer_.   
  
Tim can never be a surfer, it’s too dangerous and, even if he had a voice, Tim doesn’t think he’ll ever be strong enough to swim against the waves. He’s the same age as Dick when they first met and Tim looks a year younger and much scrawnier than Dick did when he was eight.  
  
That doesn’t really bother Tim. They still go and collect seashells after Dick is done surfing and Tim spends the time Dick is in the sea sketching.   
  
The other day, a pelican had landed about a yard or two away and Tim had managed to get a fast, loose sketch of it before it flew off. He has about two sketches of a family picnicking on the beach and one of a couple running with their dog.   
  
He’s contemplating what colors to use when beads of water wet his pages.  
  
‘You’re getting me wet,’ he accuses in tiny writing next to a sketch of Dick surfing, ‘and my sketches. Go away.’  
  
Dick laughs and purposely shakes his head, causing more droplets of water to rain down on Tim.   
  
‘No,’ Dick signs, ‘You’re gonna come play with me.’  
  
Tim scrunches his nose at Dick. ‘Go play with your board some more.’  
  
“C’mmon, Timmy. It’s summer in Sanibel. You need to play in the water.”  
  
Well, Dick has a point. He can always add the color later tonight after dinner.  
  
—  
  
Tim isn’t sure what to write –he’s been sitting at his table for forty minutes and he still doesn’t know what he wants to tell Dick. There’s nothing particularly interesting about his life and he doesn’t want to bore the other boy. But they exchanged mailing addresses before he left and he doesn’t want Dick to think he’s snubbing him either.   
  
He’s unsure and more than a little nervous.  
  
-  
  
In the end, he throws away his stationary and mails Dick a picture of them on the beach.   
  
 _‘Tim,  
  
I had fun too. Can’t wait for you to come back down!  
  
Dick’  
_  
—  
  
=Year Four=  
  
It’s nerve-wrecking going to his parents to ask for permission to go snorkeling. His mother isn’t any more fond of Dick than she was when she first met him and his assurance that he will be right next to Tim the entire time doesn’t make her any more inclined to give her consent. Tim looks to his father pleadingly, but the man just diverts his eyes nervously, unwilling to incite his wife’s wrath.   
  
‘What if we hire a professional?’  
  
“The sea is dangerous; you won’t be going.”  
  
‘I will have a life jacket and we won’t go any farther than the reef. It’s safe, there are always so many tourists.’  
  
“No.”  
  
-  
  
Tim sits on the beach and builds a sand castle, alone, because Dick is snorkeling like they had planned and he doesn’t feel like drawing. There would be nothing but greys and browns.   
  
When he’s done with his castle, he just piles the mud together and molds.   
  
The nose would slope a little more, he thinks, a bit upturned. The eyes set a bit deep, a little close, and an eyebrow quirks when he smiles. Just a bit of teeth when he smiles and a fuller bottom lip, he reminds himself as he smooths out the brow ridge and trails his fingers down the cheeks.   
  
He is sculpting the double-breasted suit when Dick returns, curious.   
  
“What’s that?”  
  
‘Howl,’ Tim scrawls, ‘From Howl’s Moving Castle.’  
  
Dick blinks. “He looks good.”  
  
‘What’s that?’ Tim points at the camera hanging off Dick’s neck, curious.   
  
“Oh,  _this_. This is your surprise,” Dick pulls the chord over his head and sits down next to Tim, tilting the camera and –Tim’s impressed, it’s a digital camera –shows Tim pictures. Pictures of the reef. “Since your mom wouldn’t let you snorkel, I decided I’d bring the reef to you.”  
  
Tim is enamored with all the colors and the way the sunlight is refracted in the water. It looks magical, otherworldly. He wishes he could have seen it, could have swum among the swirling colors and ethereal light. It’s possible that he would have never seen such beauty, but he can, because Dick took pictures.

  
‘Is this yours?’  
  
“Nah, I borrowed this from a friend’s dad. He’s an amateur photographer. I promised to return this safe and unscratched by Monday or my innards will be flying on his ship.”  
  
—  
  
When Tim returns home, he realizes he has amassed a ridiculous amount of seashells and he now has photos to add to his growing pile of ‘summer mementos’.   
  
He tries to think about what he should do with everything when Damian rings the doorbell and he is distracted by other things. Everything sits in a shoebox under his bed and he forgets about them until his next letter to Dick.  
  
—  
=Year Five=  
  
It’s –It’s terrifying and horrible and Tim never wants it to happen again because he thinks the world stopped and the colors bled out and disappeared when he saw it. His eyes stung and he tasted salt and Tim never, ever wants to experience such fear again.   
  
-  
  
He met Jason for the first time.  
  
Jason was tall somewhat gangly, apparently going through a bit of a growth spurt, and was one of Dick’s surfer friends. Tim had been shy, unsure, because meeting new people is always a harrowing experience for him. He wanted Jason to like him, but many people find it difficult and tiring to interact with him –some have even called it depressing.   
  
Dick liked Jason and so Tim wanted Jason to like him too, because he likes Dick and he wanted Dick’s friends to like him too. They’re middle school boys and Tim is still in elementary school and Dick started waiting tables at his parents’ restaurant. There won’t be much time for the older boy to hang out with him anymore and, in all honesty, he would want to hang out with his friends from school, not some ten-year old pasty kid from Gotham, New Jersey.   
  
But Jason was nice and admitted to whittling bits of driftwood he finds. He once saw a cowboy movie as a kid and there was a scene where the man was smoking a cigarette and whittling and he had thought it was so cool. He couldn’t smoke, but he could whittle.   
  
Everything was easy and the conversation wasn’t forced and Tim began to relax.   
  
Jason was nice and Dick still wanted to hang out. The two older boys were just going to go out and surf a bit, two, three hours tops, and they’d come back to shore and hang out. Tim had two water bottles, a new sketchbook, pens, watercolors, and nothing but gorgeous scenery around him.  
  
He had waved at the two boys as they waded into the water. He watched them paddle out against the current.  
  
And then it happened.  
  
-  
  
The lifeguard is over Dick and there’s a crowd of people and all he can hear is his heartbeat in his ears and he knows –he knows that Dick’s heart isn’t beating and he’s shaking. Jason is next to him, a calming presence and a soft touch and Tim can’t squelch the fear.  
  
Because Dick is so pale when his skin is always sun-kissed and golden and he’s not smiling when he always is and Tim doesn’t have many friends. Dick is special and Dick may never look for seashells with him again, they may never build another castle together, or exchange another letter again.  
  
Dick is so still and quiet and it’s not normal and it’s terrifying.  
  
It’s like being in a vacuum when Dick coughs and sputters –there’s nothing but the air in his ears and he has tunnel vision and he can’t move. He just stands and watches as Dick’s parents hold him close, as they cry over him and Tim feels relief. His legs buckle beneath him and Jason joins him on the sand, an arm over his shoulders, solid and reassuring.  
  
Tim closes his eyes and listens to Jason’s heartbeat and remembers that Dick’s heart beats too and cries in happiness.  
  
—  
  
=Year Six=  
  
There’s a lot to be said about personality and ice cream flavors, Tim thinks. He has always preferred French vanilla (or mango ice cream if it is fresh and he’s feeling adventurous). Damian has always liked pecan ice cream the best.  
  
Dick, it seems, likes rocky road or anything with lots of chocolate. Jason likes mint with chocolate chips.   
  
The ice cream is melting faster than Tim can eat it and it runs stickily down the cone and onto his fingers. But he doesn’t care, because it’s summer and he’s at Sanibel and it’s ice cream with Dick and Jason and it’s perfect and wonderful.   
  
It’s perfect.  
  
—  
  
=Year Seven=  
  
Jason and Dick are surfing while Tim is hiding under an umbrella because it seems as if the older he gets, the easier it is for him to get sunburned. He spent a painful week peeling after returning to Gotham last year and it’s something he doesn’t look forward to repeating, especially when he had to beg Damian to help him with the bits on his back he couldn’t reach. His best friend had complained about it days.   
  
Sanibel is picturesque as always, but Tim finds that his eyes continually trail after Dick in the sea. His pencil traces the lines of Dick’s body –his face, his smile, his hands –without his thought. The colors of Sanibel remind him of Dick, and so does the taste of salt and sunshine hot on his skin.  
  
He has known Dick for six years and their friendship has never wavered, but Tim is sure these new feelings will probably change that.   
  
-  
  
The realization is sudden and disconcerting –his shoebox of summer mementos looks more like a hope chest of a five year old girl. He has the pictures Dick took of the reef for him, seashells from every day he spent with Dick, and the sand dollar had given to him the first time they met.   
  
He’s not sure when his admiration for the other boy turned into  _this_ , but he knows Dick will always be special to him. The other boy deserves better than a shoebox under his bed.   
  
Tomorrow, he will go to a crafts store and make something more suitable.  
  
—  
=Year Eight=  
  
It wasn’t until he had found Titus with Damian that Tim truly wished he had a voice.  
  
Titus is their pup, their baby, and already, at five months old, he shows all the signs of the behemoth he will be as an adult. It continuously amazes Tim how the sixty-eight pounds of fur and muscle is the tiny pup that barely weighed seven pounds he and Damian had found off the side of the road.   
  
“Stop coddling the beast, you will spoil him,” Damian tuts as he gently extricates their baby from his arms. He wishes he could coo to Titus like he’s seen so many other dog owners. Titus has to be trained more heavily on visual cues than verbal cues and Tim feels small bubbles of guilt whenever he thinks of that.   
  
‘He’s mine too, Damian, and I will coddle him as much as I please.’  
  
“Tt. Just don’t ruin all of my training.”  
  
‘I don’t, do I?’ Tim signs, shooting Damian a pout. He cups Titus’ cheeks and blows a raspberry. Titus whines and licks his face. ‘See? Titus says no training has been wasted.’  
  
“You disgust me at times.” Damian snorts and taps his foot impatiently, “When will your stupid summer friends be here?”  
  
‘Soon.’  
  
-  
  
“Hey Tim! Who’s that? And this handsome fellow, hello there.” Dick rubs Titus behind the ears in just the right way and the pup throws all sixty-eight pounds of himself onto the boy as a sign of appreciation.  
  
“Hi,” Jas edges around the mass of flailing limbs and puppy kisses to introduce himself to Damian, “I’m Jason. That fool over there is Dick.”   
  
“Damian Wayne.”  
  
‘Damian is my best friend,’ Tim starts to sign before remembering that he has always written his thoughts down around Jason and he scrambles to get a pen and pad out of his bag.  
  
“Tim, it’s fine, I understood.”  
  
Tim can only gape at the other boy. He understands?  
  
“It’s great to meet the elusive best friend.”  
  
Damian sniffs a bit, “Meeting the two of you has yet to prove worthwhile.”   
  
“Just give us a few hours,” Dick promises after finally wrestling an overly affectionate pup off him.  
  
—  
  
“I wish you had chosen better,” Damian says suddenly a week after they returned to Gotham.  
  
‘What do you mean?’ Tim looks down on his shirt. Was the purple a bit gauche? ‘Should I change shirts?’  
  
“Grayson,” Damian supplies, “I wish you had chosen better than Grayson.”  
  
Oh.  
  
‘Let’s not talk about it.’  
  
“We should, because of all people you would make cow eyes at, it had to be Grayson.”  
  
—  
=Year Nine=  
  
Tim is going to start high school after summer vacation. He will be a Freshman –Dick and Jason will be Juniors.   
  
But Dick’s girlfriend, Barbara Gordon, will be a Senior and has gorgeous crimson hair and a voice that sounds disturbingly like Damian’s tells him she looks much like he would expect a red haired Athena would look. Furthermore, the Damian in his head comments lightly, now that Grayson has a girlfriend, Tim will have to stop shooting him cow eyes.  
  
It’s frightening how even miles away, it’s like his best friend is still right next to him.   
  
He wishes Damian was here now, with Titus, because if they were here, Tim thinks he could do something other than draw Dick in the water with Barbara Gordon.   
  
It’s probably his best picture yet. He should give it to them.   
  
—  
  
The summer shower is unexpected and sudden; they are on the beach, as usual, when it hits. Tim huddles a bit tighter under his umbrella and zips up his hoodie. The rain is light and the sea is calm and it won’t deter the surfers. It won’t stop the lovebirds by the shore either.  
  
Tim watches and Dick and Barbara kiss under the rain –picturesque and breathtaking.   
  
He’s startled when Jason settles down beside him, drenched from head to toe and surfboard by his side.   
  
“Do you mind if I wait out the rain with you?”  
  
‘But the water is calm.’  
  
“I don’t like to surf when it’s raining. Do you mind if we play some Pictionary?”  
  
—  
=Year Ten=  
  
Kori Anders is gorgeous and already a model at seventeen. She hails from the tiny island of Tamaran and looks just as exotic as one would think a native of the famous island of beauties would be. She has hair that shines beneath the summer sun, long, tan limbs and legs that that go on forever, plush pink lips, and glittering green eyes like precious gems. She is a work of art.  
  
She is Dick’s new girlfriend.   
  
Even with Damian’s voice in his head, it’s impossible to dislike Kori. She is sweet and kind –Tim can’t begrudge her Dick’s nickname for her. She truly is a shining star among the rest of the world. Tim can’t possibly compare.  
  
A small part of Tim wonders if Tim looked like them –like Barbara Gordon and Kori Anders – would Dick look at him too? If he was tall and beautiful, if he had long legs and breasts that looked amazing in bikinis, could he dream of Dick’s eyes looking at him with such adoration?  
  
“Come, Tim, you should not stay hidden under the umbrella. Play the ball of volleys with us,” Kori cajoles and holds out her hand. “It will be pleasurable.”  
  
Tim smiles and lets himself get pulled along by Kori.   
  
-  
  
The bonfire is bright and warm in the chilly air and Tim can focus on the flickering flames and ignore Dick and Kori off to his right, cuddling and kissing languidly. There are countless people Tim doesn’t know but probably could know if he tried.   
  
“Tim.”  
  
Jason. ‘Hi. The party is great, isn’t it?’  
  
“Yeah, it’s even better when you join us,” he lets Jason pull him up. He has come to trust the other boy implicitly and without question. “Take a walk with me.”  
  
He wants to say no, but there’s nothing for him to do but stare at the bonfire and it’s better if he doesn’t see Dick and Kori.   
  
The way Jason’s fingers link with his as they walk down the beach, farther away from the bonfire and swimsuit-clad bodies –farther from Dick and Kori –is grounding and comforting. Moonlight and starlight illuminate their way, the song of the soft crash of waves, and the way the beach glows under the moon –these are scenes written in novels, Tim thinks. The scenes when the heroine finds her love and is whisked off into her happily ever after.   
  
“I like you.”  
  
This can’t be right –Tim is no heroine and this is not a novel. Maybe Tim is drowning and he’s dreaming; something sweet to see him off to the afterlife.   
  
“Would you go out with me?”  
  
What should he do? He can’t –he can’t because it wouldn’t be right and he can’t stop looking at Dick with the ‘cow eyes’ Damian snorts about. He can’t and it’s not fair.   
  
“I’m going into this with my eyes open.”  
  
‘You know.’  
  
“Yeah, I know. I’m just asking for a chance.”  
  
He can’t; it’s not right and it’s not fair.  
  
But he knows that all he would ever want from Dick is a chance.  
  
‘Okay.’  
  
—  
  
Damian’s unimpressed look when he returns home makes him feel like a cheating house wife. The texts he gets from Jason make him feel like maybe he can fall in love with someone other than Dick.  
  
—  
  
Tim gets an invitation to Dick and Kori’s wedding in May.   
  
—  
=Year Eleven=  
  
There are all sorts of things Tim wants to ask Dick. They are all inappropriate.  
  
You’re only eighteen, isn’t it too early to get married? Kori is great, but you have only dated for a year. Isn’t it a bit of a rush? What about college? What about your future?   
  
What about me?  
  
—  
  
The first kiss he shares with Jason upon his return to Sanibel is short, sweet, and painful in its finality.   
  
It was a year, a great year, a year Tim probably didn’t deserve but clung to desperately. Jason had given his time and love and Tim had given his time and his affection, but it wasn’t right and in the end, it still wasn’t enough. It was a year of trying and failing and it was beautiful while it lasted.  
  
—  
  
They’re sitting on the steps of The Flying Graysons with ice cream, and it’s sort of like a bachelor party. There isn’t much money and so the wedding will be simple and small. The bachelor party is just the four of them –Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian –eating ice cream and skipping rocks.   
  
“This is disgusting, Grayson.”  
  
“Sorry, all we have is vanilla and rocky road. You don’t have to be here if you don’t like the ice cream.”  
  
“Tim  _invited_  me to your wedding as his plus one.”  
  
‘Not many people carry pecan ice cream.’  
  
“The least you could do was have some mint and chocolate chip.”  
  
“Next time the only flavor will be rocky road.”  
  
“It’s not fair that only you and Tim get flavors you like.”  
  
Dick throws an arm around Tim’s shoulders and sticks out his tongue. “Timmy wouldn’t complain about ice cream flavors. And he loves me the best.”  
  
Tim winces a bit.  
  
‘You’re getting married tomorrow.’  
  
“Yup.”  
  
—  
  
It was strange sitting at Dick’s wedding sandwiched between his now ex-boyfriend and his best friend on rickety fold-out chairs. There are scattered flowers, a long, white strip down a makeshift aisle, and a priest and Dick in a blue tuxedo at the end of it. The ocean plays the backdrop to what Tim is sure will be the most important day of Dick’s life.   
  
There isn’t any processional music as Kori walks down the aisle in a pristine white gown and white lilies in her hair. She doesn’t need lace or jewels to emphasize her beauty because she glows on her own, Dick’s precious Star.   
  
“We’re here today to unite Richard John Grayson and Kori Anders in holy matrimony. Such a relationship should not be entered into lightly, but reverently, and after much consideration. If it is your intention to take each other as husband and wife, please unite your hands and step forward.”  
  
Dick is going to get married. Kori will be his wife and he will take over his parents’ restaurant and have 2.5 children and a dog.   
  
“Do you, Richard John Grayson, take Kori Anders as your lawfully wedded wife?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Do you, Kori Anders –“  
  
Kori stops the pastor before he can continue, a sad smile on her face.   
  
“Dick, do not doubt my love for you, for I love you dearly. But we cannot enter this marriage when there is another you think of.”  
  
“Kori –“  
  
Kori Anders leaves Dick Grayson at their wedding with a kiss and a swoosh of a skirt.  
  
—  
  
Jason takes Dick out for some drinks, as his duty as best friend dictates, while Tim and Damian attend the reception.  
  
“Is there a point to being here? The bride and groom are gone and there’s nothing to  _celebrate_.”  
  
Tim shrugs, unsure. He’s not sure how he feels about any of it –of Dick’s almost-marriage to Kori, or how Kori is gone and Dick is heartbroken and drowning his sorrows in shots of vodka. He doesn’t know how he feels about ending a year-long relationship with someone like Jason and pining after Dick for longer than he is even consciously aware.   
  
‘There may not be,’ he admits.  
  
He just isn’t sure where else he should be.  
  
—  
=Year Twelve=  
  
Things aren’t as comfortable as they used to be.   
  
Jason and Dick are attending a community college inland and Tim is ecstatic that he can still spend his summer with them, but things have changed. He had known the paradigm of his relationship with Jason would  change when they he said ‘yes’ two years ago, and maybe it was childish of him to hope that the pieces of their relationship would fall back into the places they were before.   
  
He looks at Jason and sees what could have been; he looks at Dick and sees what can never be.   
  
Things are only stranger because there is no reason for Dick to be looking at him strangely, as if the other man has never seen him before, and for the way Dick devises all sorts of ridiculous ways to get him alone with Jason. A guy can only be an hour late to movie showings so many times before his friends start smelling ‘ulterior motive.’  
  
It only gets more awkward and painful when he overhears Dick’s attempt to convince Jason to ask Tim out on a date. “He’s still hung up on you, man. Ask him”  
  
Jason had met his eyes over Dick’s shoulders and said, “Yes, he is.”  
  
—  
  
Six years of unrequited feelings for another person is more than enough, Tim decides. All things come to an end and now is the time for this to end.  
  
He looks at the crafts jar he had bought all those years ago for the seashells he has collected over the years with Dick and the sand dollar that lies on his bookshelf. It’ll take time, but he is sure he can chip at the cork until he can safely glue the sand dollar into the cork. He plans to return everything.  
  
He hesitates over the pictures of the reef.   
  
If he is returning the sand dollar, he should return the pictures too.  
  
—  
=Year Thirteen=  
  
It’s been twelve years since Tim first met Dick Grayson along Sanibel’s beach. There is a seashell in the jar, one for every day he has spent with Dick, each seashell a memory of time spent together. The pictures of the reef are tucked away in the envelope, alongside his letter.  
  
Perhaps Dick is worried, his last letter was rather cryptic, but things will turn out better this way. He’s waiting by the palm tree the three of them had eaten ice cream under all those years ago with the jar and a letter. He can’t trust himself once Dick is here and it’s easier to have everything already written, already prepared.   
  
“Hey Timmy, what’s up?”   
  
‘For you,’ he signs as he hands over the jar. ‘Please read the letter.’  
  
Dick takes the letter and frowns at it. “This is your writing. What’s going on.”  
  
‘Read it.’  
  
“No. Tim, you’re right here, why would I read a letter? Is something wrong?”  
  
Tim chews at his lip, anxious. ‘Please, read it.’  
  
“No. Tim, if you have something to tell me, you’re gonna tell me while I’m standing here. You’re not going to write it down and give it to me and then run away. We’re friends.”  
  
And that’s the painful thing, isn’t it? It’s twelve years of friendship and the ache of wanting more than just friendship. But Dick’s right and he deserves more than Tim just dropping a letter in his lap and running away.  
  
‘I love you,’ he signs. ‘I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you.’  
  
He takes a deep breath and motions for Dick to stop when the man begins to speak.  
  
‘I’m going abroad to study art. I’m going to travel a bit in Europe ‘  
  
He points at the jar, ‘There’s a seashell there for every day we’ve spent together. That’s one hundred and fifty-two seashells. That sand dollar on the cork… that’s the sand dollar you gave me when we first met. That jar holds twelve years of friendship and love.’  
  
How does a person say that they’re leaving behind their heartache and unrequited love? That they’re giving what is equal parts precious and painful to another person because they cannot bear to carry it around any longer.  
  
“Is this your way of saying you never want to see me again?”  
  
Tim starts.   
  
‘No –‘  
  
“Tim, how exactly am I supposed to feel when you hand me a jar full of seashells, tell me that you’re in love with me, and then that you’re flying off to Europe?”  
  
That was the thing, though, wasn’t it? Tim hadn’t considered Dick’s feelings. His thoughts had run along the lines of ‘give jar and letter to Dick –leave before you convince yourself to stay.’ He wasn’t being fair –it definitely wasn’t Dick’s fault that he had intense, unrequited feelings for him, just like it wasn’t Dick’s fault that those feelings existed.  
  
“What am I supposed to do, stand here and let the guy I like run away?”  
  
‘Guy you like…?’  
  
“Yeah, the guy I like.”  
  
They’re forehead to forehead now and Tim can’t look away, can’t run away even if he wanted to.  
  
“I thought about what Kori said when she left me standing there alone on our wedding day. I thought about it and last year, when you came back I started to realize that it was you. My feelings for you aren’t as platonic as I thought it was. And I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea last year but –I was so sure you were still hung up on Jason and I want you to be happy, Tim. Because I really, really like you.”  
  
The jar is gently pushed back into his hands and he can feel Dick’s breath on his ear.   
  
“Would you mind if I kissed you now?”  
  
Tim is almost afraid his head will fall off with how furiously he shakes it.   
  
When they kiss, all Tim can think about is how Dick tastes like sunshine and sea salt.   
  
—  
=Year Sixteen=  
  
“Happy Anniversary,” Dick murmurs in between kisses.  
  
Tim had never thought they would get this far. He never thought his feelings would be reciprocated, and, when they were, he felt so certain they wouldn’t make it past the first year.   
  
‘Happy Anniversary,’ he traces onto Dick’s back, ‘I love you.’  
  
“I can’t wait until you graduate. I miss you.”  
  
Oslo is beautiful and Norway has some of the most breathtaking scenery he has ever seen and skiing like he couldn’t have ever imagined. Still, he spends his studies in Oslo missing Sanibel and missing Dick. It’s embarrassing how often Dick pops up in his sketchbook.   
  
Dick makes a sad little noise and Tim frowns and chases the other man’s lips when he sits back.   
  
“The food will be done soon and before we eat, there’s something important. I want to exchange presents first.”  
  
‘Okay, let me get your present.’  
  
He really hopes Dick likes the wetsuit he bought him. It was state of the art and he was assured by the storeowner that it was good even for scuba diving in colder waters than Florida.   
  
“No. Tim, sit.”  
  
Dick is so serious and Tim is vibrating with anxiety –what is it?   
  
“Tim –“ Oh god, that’s a box. A small, velvet box. They’re too young, he’s too young. He’s twenty-one and he hasn’t even graduated yet and oh god, this cannot be what he thinks it is.   
  
“Tim, I love you and I swear that one day, this box will hold more than just a promise. It’ll hold forever,” Dick brushes bangs from his forehead and Tim knows that even if he had a voice, he’d be unable to speak. He’s breathless and his heart is distracting and all he can focus on is how blue Dick’s eyes are, like the sky the day they first met.   
  
Tim lets Dick slip the ruby ring onto his finger and pulls the other man down for a kiss.  
  
There is moonlight and starlight outside the window, their music is the song of the ocean, and there is candle light in their room. This is the scene to Tim’s happily ever after. 


End file.
